


Gentle Sin

by dustywings



Category: Luther (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustywings/pseuds/dustywings
Summary: ‘You’ll miss me,’ she whispers. ‘Won’t you?’





	

They fuck.

He’s already asked her to leave three times. 

Coffee is spilt across the carpet. The chair toppled over. Her legs tight around his hips, his palms greedily stroking every inch of her bare skin. He kisses her like something desperate. Sometimes, he’s so rough, he makes her bleed. But she likes that. She _loves_ that. 

A part of him still mourns over his wife. Thing is, she’s not sure if it’s her death which kills him, or the fact she never wanted him at all. Either way, his grief makes him angry. The kind of angry where he hurts, where her back starts to graze and bleed from the carpet. He looks at her, and his eyes are wide and frightened and suddenly––terrifyingly–– _vulnerable_.

It’s all a bit too much, so she kisses him. Just to block out the image of his fragile self.

She tugs at him. Her knee knocks his side, and he’s caught temporarily off guard. Yet he’s sharp and all too aware. Before she can take complete control of the situation, he grabs her hands and presses them fiercely into the carpet. His fingers squeeze her own, and she can’t help but smirk. She’s witnessed this man lose himself one too many times, but it never gets boring.

When he comes, he drops his head to her shoulder, and she meets him in the middle. Blind and delirious by the way he makes her feel, how she has to arch her back just to ease the shuddering orgasm, she’s sure––and absolutely certain––that he has started to cry.

Luther cries quietly. His tears are warm on her skin. And there’s nothing. Not the slightest noise or quiver. 

In this moment, he reminds her of stone. A creature immobile and so hardened by his tragic waste of a life, he can no longer move, or breathe, or smile, or do anything which makes him remotely human.

The smile vanishes at once and she nearly cries too.

Starting to panic, she switches positions––throws him onto his back, and forces him to look up at her. And there he is, in all of his ruined glory: this man she has come to so dearly adore is _weeping_. What’s more, he’s weeping and he wants her to see.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Still, she smiles crookedly, and her eyes flash with loathing menace. 

Fool. If he wants to play soft, then he shall only bleed easier.

He doesn’t bite back. Luther downcasts his gaze, and, for a split second, she fears he might cry again. 

But, ‘Nothin’. Just––forget that.’ It all vanishes in an instant. Luther untangles them both, and stands to his feet. Their clothes are scattered across the room, and he can’t quite bring himself to dress just yet. There’s something nice about their nakedness, their lack of caring; like taking a breath of fresh air. Luther dries his eyes, and finally turns to look at her: ‘You’d better go.’

‘That’s what you said an hour ago.’

‘Yeah.’ He won’t give her the satisfaction of a smile. ‘I know.’

She squints slightly.

She is studying him. Luther sighs. His eyes dance across her body, and he already feels a tightening urge compelling him again. But he is a master of control, so, instead, he finds his boxers, his shirt; pulls them both on. His armour. His mask. What stops her from knowing everything about him.

Alice observes, unmoving. Once he might have found her behaviour bizarre, but now he’s accustomed to it. In fact, he’s learnt by now that her mannerisms are flattering. 

She observes him, studies him, and she loves him.

Rising to her feet, he thinks she’s about to dress too. Walk out finally, and they won’t see each other for another several months.

However: she witnessed him cry. He fell into her body and wept and wept, and even though she teases him, she’s _shook_. 

(Luther drops to his knees and sheds tears before her, and nobody will ever know.)

She walks over to him. Confident and brilliant, her fingers caressing his rough cheeks. He needs to shave.

‘You’ll miss me,’ she whispers. ‘ _Won’t you_?’

Luther doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t need to.

She almost grins. ‘Good bye, then, John.’

A shiver travels up his spine and he has to lean in, just to kiss her. Taste her once more. But the moment his lips brush over hers, she’s yanked herself away from him. All too quickly, she dresses, shrugs on her coat and smiles at him quite like a friend, like an enemy, like all that matters to him.

Then she’s out of the door, and gone; abandoning him to the subjection of his own company.

Next time, he will go to her. 


End file.
